


Through the Shadows

by lesyeuxverts



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:57:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesyeuxverts/pseuds/lesyeuxverts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry apologizes to Snape for calling him a coward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Shadows

The smells of sweat and travel clung to Harry as he stepped out of the empty train station and into the sunlight. He blinked in the brightness, crumpling the train schedule and shoving it in his pocket before he wiped his hands on his jeans.

Sunlight chased away the shadows in the narrow street, warming the pavement and glittering in the broken windows. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, tracing the ragged edges of the train schedule. Fidgeting with the slick paper, he waited.

The glitter of sunlight echoed the glittering lights in his memory, the curses cast, the bodies falling, the blood slick and red and shining with reflections of curse-light. Ron and Hermione fallen and still, their faces blank, and then Harry fell, stumbling under a curse. The Horcrux was just within his grasp – he reached out for it, took it, and a dark shadow swooped him away with the battle. A dark shadow with tender hands and a rough voice had saved him, had whisked him away from the green curse-light.

Every movement made him jump, every beam of sunlight made him wary, every shadow made him twitch. The looming darkness, the breath of pursuit hot on his neck, the adrenaline thrumming through his veins – Harry traced the outlines of the train schedule, pricking his finger on the sharp corners, taking deep breaths.

Snape appeared at last, slinking along the rows of abandoned shops, his cloak a shadow to hide him. Soft and slow, Harry blinked at him, at the changes in his appearance. Snape pulled the hood of his cloak up, hiding the beaky, broken nose and the deep-etched scowl lines. He grabbed Harry's wrist.

"Stop woolgathering, Potter, we can't afford to loiter here."

Over narrow, twisting streets, across an arching bridge, and through the eerie, empty town, Harry followed Snape. The long cold fingers wrapped around his wrist were the only comfort Snape gave him – tightening with admonitions for silence, strong when Harry stumbled, cool and dry while Harry sweated.

The shadows lengthened while Snape drew Harry out of the town and into the forest. The shadows of the tall swaying pines left jagged mountain ranges on the ground, sharp and impassable. The smell of green growth and gray stone surrounded them, and Harry took deep cleansing breaths. He had to do this – he had to do this for Ron and Hermione, for Dumbledore, for all of them.

Harry opened his mouth to protest when Snape drew him through the shadows, across that barrier between town and woods, but Snape turned to him and laid a long-fingered hand across his mouth. "Silence," Snape insisted. He tugged on Harry's wrist, yanking him further into the dark forest.

The sweat on Harry's skin dried in the cool air, leaving him prickly and uncomfortable. He shuddered, his wrist trapped in Snape's hand, his course set.

After the darkness and silence, Snape drew Harry into a small grove bright with sunlight and ringed with the spiky shadows of the pines, and released him. With a swirl of his cloak, he stalked away to stare at Harry across the distance, his arms folded and his expression hidden. "Everything has been arranged," he said.

Shadows stirred in the forest, and the breath of the wind raised goose pimples on Harry's skin, clearing away the prickle of dried sweat and the musty smell of the train. Clean air, pure air washed over Harry, and the breeze stirred the leaves on the ground, swirling in the space between him and Snape.

Shadows had saved Harry once before. The scars of the Horcruxes were fresh on his hands, and the faces of the dead were fresh in his mind, stark and still. Snape was the only one left to save him, the only shadow that he trusted, and this was Harry's task, and there was no choice.

"You'll take the first Portkey," Snape said, "and then – not before then – open this envelope and follow the directions. Take the Portkeys in the order directed and then take the train to the safe-house, using no magic. You must follow them to the letter, with none of your impetuous Gryffindor antics, and you must keep your mind closed, do you understand?"

Harry opened his mouth and Snape waved him to silence. "Keep your mouth shut and your magic silent. Your enemies are out there, they are watching for you, and they will catch you if you are not careful."

The leaves swirled in the space between them, the breeze raising chills on Harry's forearm, and the cold and the silence were too much. It was too loud, too cold, too stark and lonely in this forest.

He rushed forward, bridging the space between them with Gryffindor impetuousness, reaching out to touch Snape. Coarse black fabric, Snape's wiry arms like sticks encircled by Harry's hands, and the feel of blood rushing under his fingers, breath and heartbeat and the rhythm of life warm and real – it was the closest Harry had been to Snape.

"Come with me," Harry said. "It won't be safe for you here – if the others find you, if they catch you –"

"That is none of your concern, Mr. Potter. Be so kind as to unhand me."

Harry brushed back the cowl that hid Snape's features, baring the pale face to the dim forest light. Clouds shifted and shadows danced, and the dark gleam in Snape's eyes had not changed even though the map of lines that marked his face had been redrawn, overlaid with scars and stress.

"It's no safer for you to stay than for me. If you don't come with me, I'll –"

"Rid yourself of that persistent Gryffindor stupidity," Snape said. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as he pried Harry's hands away from his arms, and he faltered again before he rolled up his sleeve. "The Dark Lord can track me with a thought."

The Dark Mark was a vicious black stain on Snape's pale skin, and without thinking, Harry bent his head to press a kiss to it. He tasted the salty flesh and it was no different, no less smooth, no darker or more twisted than the rest of Snape.

Leaves rustled and an early owl broke the silence with a mournful call. Snape jerked away, his hands rough as he shook Harry, his mouth set in a hard line. "How dare you? How dare you ruin everything with your stupidity?"

Harry stared, his mouth working around the memory of the kiss, the feeling of smooth bare skin, the taste of salt and sweat. He took a step towards Snape, put his hands on Snape's shoulders and pulled him close.

"Idiot," Snape said. "Get out of here now, Potter. Get out while you can save your worthless skin."

He shook Harry out of the reverie, thrusting the Portkey and the envelope into his hand. "Do you hear me? Get out of here before they come, before the Dark Lord traces the touch of your magic here and follows you to the hideaway."

Harry lunged forward for a kiss, bashing their lips together. It was mangled and rough, Snape uncooperative and unyielding, his warmth contained and his emotions hidden, and then it was over. Snape thrust Harry away from him.

Shadows lengthened and thickened, the early owl hooting a warning, and Harry clutched the Portkey that was still warm from Snape's fingers. "Come with me, Snape. Leave all of this behind and make a new life for yourself."

Snape curled his lips into a sneer, the lines furrowing his forehead into a goblin caricature, leering and horrible in the darkness. "The password to activate the Portkey is asphodel."

A stick cracked in the forest, and Harry felt the pursuit drawing closer, the darkness creeping through the shadows and homing in on them. He had danced with the devil, he had tempted fate, he had kissed Snape to his death. "I'm – I'm sorry I ever called you a coward, Snape. You're the bravest man I know."

Another twig cracked, and Harry heard a muffled curse, heard the owl hooting, and in the dim light, he saw Snape's last twisted half-smile. "Asphodel," he said, and the world twisted around him, blurring and disappearing.

\----------

Harry crumpled the envelope and thrust it into his pocket, dropping the last Portkey to the ground and kicking it. Jewel-bright in the light of the rising sun, the bottle gained speed as it disappeared down the hill. Snape's work, Harry's dark shadow saving him again, and it rolled away like a piece of trash. Snape's sacrifices glittered and were gone, and Harry bit his lip.

Harry crept through the streets, avoiding early risers and masking his thoughts. The shadows that flitted around the edges of his vision and the pain that twinged through his scar had faded several Portkeys ago. Harry clutched the envelope in his pocket.

The crinkle of Severus's instructions, rough-edged and spiky, sped his feet and sharpened his mind. _Keep your mouth shut and your magic silent, get out while you can save your worthless skin,_ the parallel wrinkles had marred Severus's forehead as the shadows drew nearer and the Portkey whisked Harry away.

The spin of successive Portkeys, the wrenching pain that carried through Harry's scar, the flashes of shadows blurring his vision, and it was all overlaid with the knowledge that he had kissed Snape. He had kissed Snape and left him to his death, and the torture that Voldemort inflicted was only echoed in Harry's scar. Snape had saved him and protected him, and Harry had left him to pay the price, had left him to suffer. No amount of spinning and sickening nausea from the Portkeys, none of the jolts of hard landings in unfamiliar places, none of the pain echoed through his scar was enough to make Harry forget that he had kissed Snape and left him to his death.

The feeling of Snape's lips, the brush of breath against Harry's cheek, the smell of herbs that clung to Snape's robes, the jerk of the Portkey – Harry bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

The buildings left gap-toothed shadows on the pavement, the sunlight glittered in the windows like an echo of curse-fire, and the town began to wake with noise and bustle. Harry crept through the gates, slipping into the train station and boarding the first train.

He crouched in the shadows, hidden in the darkness, and waited for the jerk of departure, the rumble of the train over the tracks. It echoed through his bones when it came, a deep noise that vibrated under him and through him. Harry braced himself against the movement, his palms flat on the floor.

The rumble of the train kept him awake, even through the ravages worked by his sleepless night, even through the slow drain of adrenaline from his system. Snape had been sacrificed for him, because of him, and Harry would not let that sacrifice go. He kept his hands flat on the floor, his magic shielded and his mind masked, and he let the shadows flow over him, let them conceal him and claim him.

The smell of the train, the musty smell of travel washed away the last of Snape's scent. In a forest, in the crunch of leaves and the clean pure air, Severus –

Harry bit his lip. He tilted his head up, peeking through the window. Like butterfly wings, fleeting and fragile, the countryside blurred past. Harry ducked down again, tucking his chin in and staring at his knobby knees.

When the train jerked to its last stop, the voice of the conductor an echo that rang through the emptying aisles, Harry crept out of his patch of shadows and out the door.

The last passenger had departed, and the train station had emptied when Harry emerged from his new hiding spot. He stumbled as he left the station, as he stepped out of the shadows and into the sunlight. His foot caught on something soft and slick, and he fell, his hands grasping at the air for balance.

His breath was stolen from him by the soft impact, and Harry gasped, gaping, his fingers grasping at rough black cloth. Fallen bodies, looming shadows, faces slick with blood and blank with death – his shadow had returned to him. "Snape.

"Snape, you're not dead." Pushing the hood back, Harry tangled his fingers in Snape's greasy hair. He smashed their lips together in a hasty kiss and was pushed away.

"I am alive, Potter, with no thanks whatsoever to you and your graceful arrival. Get off me."

Snape's voice was strained and cracking, each syllable drawn out with a whoosh of air. He took another breath, his lungs vibrating against Harry's chest, his eyes wide and dilated.

Harry pinched the blood back into Snape's pale lips and cheeks, and his hands, searching, made a catalogue of Snape's injuries. Bruises around his neck, the uncontrolled shaking of Cruciatus, slick blood hidden by his dark robes – Harry shuddered, biting his lip. "I'm sorry."

"Get off me, you wretched, thankless idiot."

Harry pressed open-mouthed kisses to Snape's bruises, to his trembling muscles, to the burned skin of his forearm. Jerking back, lips blistered and swollen, Harry cringed when Snape hissed at him.

"Do that again."

Harry's lips burned and blistered further, but he bit his tongue and continued to kiss the Mark. The heat drained away, the darkness fading to pale, and at last, Snape pushed Harry away. Sacrifice for sacrifice, Harry's lips blistering and Snape's arm bare and free of pain – he owed this much and more to his shadow.

"Well?" he asked. "Help me up."

When they were eye to eye, Snape's hands trapped in Harry's grip, they stuttered and began again.

"Thank you," Snape said.

"I'm sorry."

Without another word, Severus dragged Harry into the shadows and led him through the streets. They came at last to a crumbling gray house on the edge of the town, the promised safe-house. Snape beckoned Harry over the threshold.

He reached over, his fingers cold on Harry's cheek. "Don't play the martyr with me, Potter. There's no purpose in assigning the blame to yourself. We all make our own choices and I chose to do this."

Harry held Snape's fingers against his face. Long and cold, the nails long enough to scrape against his skin, they smelled of herbs and bitter musk. "Thank you."

Snape scowled and pulled his hand away. "Don’t flatter yourself, Potter. This means nothing – it's a mere coincidence that we found each other again."

"You didn't save me," Harry said. "You made your own choices. You only did your duty."

Snape hummed, low in his throat, making a pleased-sounding noise that vibrated through the dark corridor. "Imagine that. You can learn after all."

"Still," Harry said, reaching out to lay his fingers across Snape's cheek. "Still, you did save me, and you're the bravest man I've ever known."

Blinking and scowling, Snape turned away from Harry's touch. "Come, Potter. There's much to be done to make our hideaway livable. There's much to be done to make you fit to face Voldemort again." His cloak swirled behind him, a shadow dark in the shadows, and Harry followed him.  



End file.
